


To Catch A Thief

by harborshore



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 05:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harborshore/pseuds/harborshore
Summary: Gen wants.





	To Catch A Thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oliviacirce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacirce/gifts).



> I wrote you another pinch-hit. Oops. You write FANTASTIC prompts. We don’t just share an OT3, we share a love for this fascinating complicated couple.

Irene doesn’t say anything. She never does; then again, she doesn’t need to. Gen swallows when he looks down at the ribbon waiting for him on his bedside table. It’s bright red, a garish, vibrant announcement, and no one will know what it means. 

“My queen,” he says carefully.

She inclines her head. Gen takes the ribbon, bows to her in that deep, courtier-smarmy way that never fails to irritate her, and goes to get dressed. His heart is beating so fast he thinks it must show, but his attendant doesn’t bat an eye at the request to braid it into his hair.

No one remarks on it during the day either, even though Gen knows there will doubtlessly be imitations within a day or two. That’s not what keeps making him touch it, though. It feels magnetic, as if it’s true north in a compass and his hand is the needle. 

The real true north is of course Irene’s gaze. Every time they’re in the same room, he looks up to see her looking back, and he. He wants to go to her, wrists and mouth and heart pounding with it. But he bows, again, mocking, and she smiles. The small, public smile that no one will notice but him. 

He has to take himself off mid-day to splash his face with cold water, a distraction that doesn't help all that much but that gives him a short moment of relief. He wants.

Irene puts a hand on his wrist during lunch, squeezing gently, and it takes Gen a full ten minutes before he’s able to hear what the dull ambassador they seated next to him is saying. When he glances over to Irene, her cheeks are lightly flushed, and oh, the conquering look suits her.

Gen can’t remember when he had a day that felt this long. Can’t. 

When they’re back in their chambers that night he dismisses their attendants before they can even begin to attempt to undress him, and looks mutely at Irene.

“My poor dear,” she says. “Is there something you want?” She doesn’t move from where she sits in front of the vanity, leisurely removing pins from her hair, but he feels as though she’s already touching him. 

“You know,” he says, but can’t finish the sentence. Her gaze burns. This game affects her too, he knows that should he run his hand up her skirt right now she would be dripping, but he can’t move. 

“You might as well come here, then,” she says, turning back to the mirror as if she couldn’t care less about what he does. 

Gen goes. He will always (eventually) go where she wants him. 

On his knees next to her, she lets him put his forehead on her thigh. He shudders when she buries her fingers in his hair, every point of contact like lightning over his skin. 

“There,” she says softly. “There you are.”

Here he is, indeed. He’s never more present than when she is looking at him.

“You should stay right there, I think,” she says. “You’re good right there.”

Good is a relative word, he thinks. He’s so hard, waves of want threatening to engulf him.

“You did well today,” she adds, tugging on the ribbon in his hair. Gen shakes. “I like it when you wear my colors.” 

Gen likes it too. He nods, head moving against her leg. 

“My good king,” she says. “My good boy.” The last is said carefully. It’s a sensitive thing, still. But it only sounds good today to Gen, it only sounds right. They don’t do this very often, but when they do, it’s at Attolia’s instigation and only if Gen acquiesces. By wearing a ribbon in his hair, for example.

Irene tugs at said ribbon now. “I want to tie you up with red,” she says. “Keep you here, just for me.” Gen swallows, squeezing his eyes shut. It sounds so—he wants that so much, to be for her alone. Even when they’re not like this, he thinks he would turn the palace upside down just to hear her laugh. 

He’s so hard, but it only registers as background noise. She comes first, in this. In every sense.

“Do you want to do something for me, is that it?” she says, stroking his hair. He whines. He does, he really does. 

“Back up a little, my love,” she says, and she turns in her chair, spreading her legs and beckoning to him. “You should touch me,” she says.

Gen breathes in. Only one of his hands is useful in this, so that’s the one he slides under her skirts, and oh. Oh. She’s wet. Wet, and bare.

She makes an amused noise. “I thought of this today,” she admits, hips tilting into his hand. “I thought, if you were going to show the world you belonged to me, I could make my own private demonstration.” Her legs spread further and Gen slides two fingers into her, as easily as he ever stole anything. “A third, my king,” she says, still sounding so calm. 

He wants to get his mouth on her but her skirts are in the way, and he has to get her off like this, because evidently that’s the game. One of her feet presses against his dick and the smile on her lips is triumphant when he can’t suppress the desperate noise that comes out of him.

“You are lovely,” she says, and at last he can hear the want in her voice, and redoubles his efforts. “So lovely, so desperate for me, oh—” she clenches hard around his fingers, coming, and he follows, falling over the edge like he always does for her, so easily and so completely.

“Give me your hand,” she says when they’re both back on solid ground, or almost, metaphorically speaking, and Gen obliges, biting down a curse when she draws his fingers into her mouth, licking them clean. She strokes his cheek with her wet hand, after.

“Come to bed, my king,” she says. Gen goes. 

In bed, she pulls him closer and kisses the top of his head. “Beautiful,” she says softly. Gen closes his eyes and breathes her in.


End file.
